


Death and Taxes

by Ray_Writes



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Season/Series 07
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:47:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23995492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ray_Writes/pseuds/Ray_Writes
Summary: River wants a house now that she's out of prison, and the Doctor must embark on the dreaded task of personal finance.
Relationships: Eleventh Doctor & Clara Oswin Oswald, Eleventh Doctor/River Song
Comments: 17
Kudos: 34





	Death and Taxes

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, all! This may seem like a first for me, but years back I used to write Doctor/River fics all the time on an old account, so it was actually quite fun to get back into it. Portions of this story have actually been sitting in my drafts for something like three years, but the Eleven Appreciation Weekend finally got me motivated to finish it. Many thanks to colorofmymind for beta-reading. Thanks to you all for reading now, and I hope you enjoy!

He took Professor Song to see the premiere of the Galactic Federation Symphony. The musicians consisted of Draconians, Alpha Centaurians, and humans, with an Ice Warrior serving as conductor. It was a pleasant evening, music and champagne — the latter of which he did not partake in, content to watch his wife sip at her flute with a smile curving her lips. Much better than the first time they’d met after Manhattan. Even so, they carefully danced around the subject of his travels or companions. It hardly mattered; Clara was home with the children again, so he may as well have been alone.

“So then, back to the Luna University? Or perhaps dancing under the Karaveen Nebula? The night is still young,” the Doctor remarked as he led them arm in arm back through the TARDIS doors.

“Actually, Doctor, I’ve got a matter of business to discuss with you,” River countered in a way that surprisingly enough did not at all sound like an innuendo, and he was getting rather good at picking those up from her.

“Oh?”

She slipped her hand into his, and they walked past the console, up into the corridor and through a door which today led into his study. He perched himself on the corner of his desk, arms folded and legs crossed at the ankle.

“Well, Professor Song, what can I do for you?”

She smirked. “I was hoping you'd ask.” Then she pulled out a stack of paper and files far too large to have fit in an ordinary clutch and set them down just to the right of him with a very heavy thud.

The Doctor blinked. “What’s this?”

“It's what I need you to do for me,” she answered. “I’m buying a house near the university, and there's a lot that needs filled out as far as mortgage payments and property taxes are concerned. Not to mention the loan I’ve got to take from the bank. You’ll have to co-sign on that, by the way.”

The Doctor, whose lip had been curling in distaste with every word she spoke, looked at her with wide eyes. “Co-sign?”

River gave a well-worn sigh. “Yes, Sweetie. I get a better deal if someone does, and you being my husband makes you the ideal candidate. Joint filing.”

“Taxes?” He echoed numbly, thumbing through the stack once. There were all sorts of official looking titles and tiny boxes and very fine print he would most certainly need Amy's glasses for. The Doctor shook his head. “No. No, I haven’t done taxes in — well, er, come to think of it I’m not sure I’ve ever done them. I won’t start now.”

“And what am I supposed to do then? Sleep in my office?”

“Well, no,” he acknowledged. “Couldn't you just — I mean it's not like you haven't before — couldn't you, ah, _find_ some money somewhere?”

“Oh yes, that’ll go over lovely. Paying off my mortgage with undisclosed income. Then they can arrest me again for tax evasion — that’ll be twenty life sentences at least.” Her unimpressed look morphed into something a little more earnest, a little more beseeching. “I’m only trying to get a life after prison started, Doctor.”

Oh. Well, that just wasn’t fair. There really was no faulting her, was there? After all she'd done for him in saving his life, River Song was just asking for a little aid in getting the next chapter of hers going. The last chapter, of which he could never tell her even as it drew ever nearer.

The Doctor stared. River stared back, one perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched imperiously.

“So, you’ll bring it round the next time you stop by? Lovely.” Without another word, much less waiting for his response, she turned and swept from the room.

“River. _River!_ ”

When after a moment she did not return, the Doctor was forced to half-run to catch her up in the console room, where she was already working the controls.

“River, I am homeless. Stateless. Planetless, even! My estate consists of a Type 40 Time Capsule, and it's _stolen property_.”

“You think my credit’s much better, honey? I'm an ex-con.” She glanced back at him, curls falling in a wave down her shoulder. It was quite the look. “Seeing as we both know how that happened I shouldn't think it’d be that unreasonable of a request.”

The Doctor’s mouth fell open, but nothing came immediately to mind.

River smirked. “I didn’t think so.” The time rotor pulsed once more, then quieted, about the only indication they’d landed whenever his wife was the one driving. Then she continued down the ramp to the doors.

“You could always stay.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, and yet hopeless as he knew it was he carried on. “Keep a vortex manipulator onboard, pop over to the University whenever you felt like teaching, then back here. You’re welcome here.”

You’re _wanted_ here, was what he wished to say.

River had paused in front of the doors, and when she turned around this time she looked pained. “Thank you, Sweetie. But we both know that isn't what we are.”

How could they know without ever having tried it? That, at least, he managed to reign in. She already thought him enough of a sentimental old fool, after all.

“I’ll have to have a look around the place sometime,” he came up with instead. “Seeing as it’ll be half mine.”

“Oh honey, that's a promise,” River replied with a wink, and he dredged up a smile just for her. Then she was out the doors and out of his life once again. The Doctor bowed his head briefly, then reached for the dematerialization lever to head back into the Vortex.

Returning to his desk, the Doctor eyed up the stack that waited for him. To his view, it appeared to tower over everything else, particularly once he’d taken his seat. His Everest. He blew out a breath and took out her mother’s glasses. “Right then. Taxes.” The Doctor shrugged. “How hard can they be, really?”

\---

Taxes, as it turned out, could be _very_ hard.

The forms were printed as tiny as he’d suspected and were twice as tricky. To fill one out, he needed to know something called a credit score. The Doctor did not know what a credit score was, and when he asked Clara her eyes went the biggest he’d ever seen them.

“Why do _you_ want to know something like that?”

“Idle curiosity.”

Clara snorted and turned away. He never actually got an answer.

There was a helpline number in incredibly small print at the bottom of the phone. The Doctor liked helplines. A helpline had directed his new friend into his life. Or back into it. He still didn’t know exactly how he had met Clara twice before without her remembering it.

Nevertheless, the Doctor called the number. There was a funny automated voice someone had tried to make sound like a human but seemingly gave up halfway through, and it listed off a whole lot of options and numbers to press accordingly. The Doctor waited until the end of the list, where it told him that if he stayed on the line a real person might actually talk to him. That was much better.

He was tapping his toes along with a very mellow xylophone playing a repetitive verse for several minutes before the music abruptly cut off.

“This is Keisha with Lunar Revenue, how may I help you this morning?”

The Doctor jumped and nearly fumbled the phone. “Keisha! Ha! Yes, you can help me. I need to know what a credit score is.”

“What a credit score is or what _your_ credit score is, sir?”

“Both, preferably.”

There was a pause.

“Uh, well, a credit score is a number a person’s given based on their financial history, and depends on factors like bill payments or outstanding loans,” she explained slowly, as though waiting for him to stop and assure her he understood at any moment. “And to get your credit score, I’m going to need some information from you, sir. Can I have your name?”

“The Doctor,” he readily supplied.

“Alright, and first and last name, sir?”

“No, no,” he said, waving a hand cheerily though it presumably made no difference to her. “Just the Doctor.”

“I’m afraid that’s not a name, sir.”

“Well, of course it isn’t just _a_ name. It’s my name. It’d be silly if you had multiple people running around calling themselves the Doctor — there’s already enough of me doing that.”

There was another long pause. “Well, sir, I will try to find your information in our system, but it might take some time.”

“How much?”

“If you could please hold.”

“Er, yes? Hold what?” He pulled the phone back to look at the receiver. “Keisha? Hello?”

Keisha’s voice had been replaced by the xylophone. And maybe some strings.

“Keisha,” the Doctor grumbled under his breath. He sighed and set the phone down on its side, where he could still make out the music. The Doctor paced around a bit on the main platform, then up on the second level. He went down below to do some maintenance, then came back up.

The music was still playing. He _hated_ waiting.

“Right, okay. Time to jump the line.”

The Doctor hung up the phone. A short trip through the Vortex later and he was striding out into a very tiny cubicle in which was sat a very startled woman with very nice, intricate braids woven into her hair.

“Keisha, right?” The Doctor checked. “I was on the phone with you an hour and a half ago. The Doctor, remember?”

“How did you—”

“I was in the neighborhood. Listen, the way I see it, the faster we get this all sorted out is the less time we have to spend on it, right? So let’s sort it out.” He dropped the files on her desk and gestured at them. “That’s everything I’ve got so far, but I can’t get anywhere without the credit score.”

“This is to co-sign for a house?” She asked after briefly skimming the top form. She was either very clever or just very literate. Possibly both.

“Yes, my wife wants one. It seems very tedious, but her 150th is coming up, so.” He shrugged.

“Right…” She rolled her shoulders and opened up a new window on her computer, which was a flat screen embedded into the cubicle wall. “This is your first time filing with us?”

“Yes.”

“Then we’ll need to open an account. Let me see what I can find in terms of identification.”

After some tapping on the screen interspersed with checking some of the things he had written down, she turned back around in her chair.

“We have on file here that you’re dead.”

“Ah. Yes. Well, that would be spoilers for me. See, I clearly haven’t died yet.” The Doctor splayed his arms wide in demonstration. It wasn’t as though he could tell her that what they had on record was his fake death. That just wouldn’t do.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” said Keisha.

“Neither am I, most days. But since I am not dead, could I have the information I need to fill out the paperwork for my wife?”

“I’m afraid not, sir. Even if I ignore the claim that you’re dead, you don’t seem to have a record of any credit.”

He rocked back on his heels, hands planted at his waist. “Well, how exactly do you go about getting one?”

“Making purchases and paying them back,” She answered blandly. “Loans. That sort of thing.”

“That’s what people do?”

“Yes. Usually with money they make at their jobs, sir.”

Well, there was a thought. “I’ve had one of those! Maybe they can get me a credit score.”

“Maybe, sir.”

“Alright, then, I’ll be back in a mo’,” he told her, seizing the stack of papers River had given him once more, though he staggered under the additional weight as Keisha through another heavy-looking file. “What’s this, then?”

“Life insurance policy. You may want to take one out before you are dead, sir.”

The Doctor considered, then shook his head. “I’ll be dead before I’d have sorted it out, I expect.” At least he hoped.

Just a quick trip, and then he might soon have all this bureaucratic nonsense out of his life. If the Time Lords could see him now.

The things one did for love.

\---

Kate Stewart had been enjoying a cuppa at her desk until the peace and quiet was shattered by the sound of a wheezing engine, and the papers in front of her were scattered in a sudden strong wind.

She looked up to find the TARDIS materializing right in her office doorway.

“Kate!” The Doctor came bounding out the doors in a purple coat and vest this time, though the bowtie, it seemed, was a constant. She mentally made a note to add that to the file.

“Doctor, this is a surprise. Are we under attack?”

“Not at all, just looking for a bit of assistance.”

Kate raised an eyebrow. “With?”

“Taxes,” he answered plainly. Kate nearly fell out of her chair. “River’s eyeing up a house near the Luna University, and there’s a whole thing about payments and whatnot that she’s asked me to sign on for with her, but I haven’t got much in the way of financial history.”

Kate scrambled for a pen and a notepad to start writing this down. At the top of the page, she labeled _River?_ with a large circle surrounding the name.

“See, as of now I have absolutely horrible credit because there’s very little way for me to establish a record of buying and paying for things,” he continued on. “But then I thought, you know who has records? UNIT has records! Loads of records. Records by the bucketful! Surely if anyone has a record of me holding a steady position where I incurred expenses and compensated them, it’ll be UNIT.” The Doctor paused and looked at her. “So would you happen to have something like that?”

“Er, yes, I imagine.” Kate placed a call down to their records keeper, then asked for a pot of tea to be put on while they waited. Her own cup, she requested to be made particularly strong.

“So, you’re buying a house?” She asked to make conversation.

“River’s buying the house,” he corrected her.

“Still, not very like you.” He had lived on Earth for years while working full-time with UNIT and had, by all accounts, slept in the TARDIS parked in his lab.

“Yes, well, River has a habit of making me do things not very like me,” he said, in a tone that was as exasperated as it was fond. He perked up as their records keeper entered with a very old cardboard box. “There we go. Excellent! Give the man a raise.”

“You won’t be getting a raise, Jeremy,” she informed the records keeper matter-of-factly. He nodded and left the room.

The Doctor had popped the lid of the box and was thumbing through the papers. “Credit, credit… not actually sure where I’m meant to find it. Ah well, Keisha will know.” He replaced the lid and hauled the whole box into his arms. “Thanks very much, Kate.”

“Actually, Doctor, since we’re on the subject and if my recollection serves me, we don’t seem to have an accurate date on when you held the lab position with us. Would you be able to—”

The Time Lord was already walking back into his box, and he waved a hand over his shoulder. “Oh, just pick one.”

Kate’s sigh was covered by the departing TARDIS engines.

\---

Clara entered the TARDIS Wednesday morning with a skip in her step. “Mine turn to pick, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Chin Boy agreed, stepping away from the controls as though ceding them to her. She wasn’t actually going to fly this thing, mind. No matter what he’d said about the old cow starting to warm up to her. “Where to?”

“I’m glad you asked.” Clara lifted her old book out of her satchel and hugged it to her chest for a moment. Then, just as she’d opened the cover, the phone rang outside.

“That’s odd.” She knew she’d called him on it, before, but just how many people knew that number anyway? Apart from that woman in the shop, she supposed.

“Ah, hold the thought, Clara,” he said, hurrying around her with a slide of the heels and leaving the ship. “Hello? It has? Approved? Keisha, I could kiss you!”

“Not a snog box, my arse,” Clara muttered under her breath. She hurried to the doorway and leaned out. “Oi, mind not shouting for the whole street to hear?” Artie and Angie were getting curious enough about where she always went on her days off, especially since the latter claimed Clara never used to go anywhere at all.

The Doctor put his hand over the bottom of the phone. “Sorry,” he said, not sounding sorry in the least. “Just got some very good news for one Professor Song.”

Clara raised her eyebrows. “Friend of yours?”

He nodded distractedly, then half-turned away as he continued to speak into the phone. “Yes. Yes, I can stop by. I’ll take the papers over myself to have them signed. You’ve been a _saint_ , Keisha, you’ll do great things. I’m sure of it. Keep working wonders. Yes, bye-bye.”

He hung up the phone and dropped back against the doors with relief as though he’d just completed a marathon.

“You okay?” She asked wryly.

He popped right back up. “Okay? I’m more than okay on this day of days.”

“Right, this day where we’re apparently going to fill paperwork with professors?”

The Doctor paused. “Er, no. I’ll take care of that. Alone.” He tugged at his ear, looking uncomfortable with twitching limbs.

“Something the matter?”

“What? No, nothing. Just, best for me to pay a private visit.” He nodded to himself. “Yeah.”

Perhaps Professor Song didn’t like unfamiliar visitors. Clara pictured a stuffy, studious bloke surrounded by bookshelves and nodded to herself.

“Well then, I suppose I will pick after all. Any further expected interruptions?” She asked, fixing him with a mock arch look.

“None whatsoever.” He gestured back inside of the box. “Lead on, Clara.”

The leader, was she? She quite liked the sound of that.

\---

River did not like being led places. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” was all he said, his breath tickling her ear while his hands rested over her eyes. Oh, he was infuriating sometimes.

“You know I can get out of this any time I like.”

“Yes. And you can get out… now!” He pulled his hands back, and River stood blinking at a front door.

Not just any front door. Her front door. The one she wanted.

“You just fancied a look, then?” He hadn’t brought up the favor she’d asked of him, though she knew by their diaries that he had been asked, and River hadn’t brought it up either. She didn’t want to be too pushy, or else he’d get his back up. It was his way. 

“Nope,” he told her, then withdrew a pen and a form from his vest pocket. “Sign here, please.”

His signature was already affixed under where she was meant to. “Is this…?”

“It’s yours. Already is, actually, I’ve jumped us ahead a few days after I’ve filed the papers, which I’ll do after you sign them. You are the proud owner of four walls, a door and the dimensionally-proportional space contained therein.”

River numbly took the pen and paper and signed her name. It hardly seemed real. It felt like a dream.

She’d never had a home of her own. There was the TARDIS, of course, but no one owned her. Her mother’s childhood home had been _Amy’s house_ and same as her dad’s. Her parent’s place — well, there had been a guest room she’d used now and then. So had other people. They all knew she didn’t live there with them.

But this… this was a space for her to be and to do with as she pleased. She could put things up on the walls or in a drawer without worrying about them being monitored by the Silence or taken during a cell inspection or missing the next time she met up with a younger version of her husband.

“Why anyone would want to be is beyond me, of course,” he was saying now with an exaggerated sniff. He was putting on a show to hide how secretly pleased he was as she gazed on him in wonder.

A part of her had thought he’d never do it.

“You have the keys?” A second later, they were dangling in front of her face, and River snatched them out of the air. She hurried to throw open the door and entered. A sitting room, kitchen, table with chairs. A hallway leading back towards a bed and bath. Tiny and utterly mundane and _beautiful._

“You don’t have to go and file those right away, do you?” She asked, reaching back blindly for his hand. He grasped hers loosely in his, twining their fingers.

“No, not right away. Why, have a celebration in mind? We could watch telly, pick out new paint colors…”

River looked back at him with a smirk. “I was thinking we could break in the rooms, honey.”

It was her husband who smirked right back at her. “Now you’re talking.” He kicked the door shut with a ridiculous flail of one leg and was in her arms the next breath.

“Home, Sweetie, Home,” River whispered against his lips.

\---

The Doctor waved goodbye to Clara as she exited the TARDIS once more. They’d had an interesting time of things in the Sombrero Galaxy which, disappointingly, had not included sombreros. But they’d made it back in one piece; frankly, he counted it a mark of success each time Clara came back in one piece. He wasn’t sure whether the third time really was the charm in her case or not, but he was very sure he couldn’t lose her the same way he had lost the other two Claras. Not when he’d already lost so much.

Before he could take off again, there was a flash of light that caused him to duck down under the console for a moment before realizing it wasn’t coming at him. Instead, it hovered across the room, slowly taking shape.

Ah, a delivery. He occasionally received deliveries — perhaps that fez he’d ordered was finally here — but when the light faded, it was not a mechanized courier who stood there, but a letter that dropped to the floor.

The Doctor hurried round to that side of the console and picked it up. It was labeled with the logo of Lunar Revenue. He pinched the bridge of his nose and opened the envelope, bracing himself for what new form or inquiry he needed to fill.

Inside was a single sheet of paper. It read:

_Dear The Doctor,_

_Lunar Services was notified June 7th of the passing of Professor R. Song, the borrower of an outstanding loan on a residence. While we are deeply saddened for your loss, as co-signer you have inherited the remaining balance of that loan. If you wish to have the property taken as collateral to settle the debt, no further action need be taken. Please be advised that this may harm your credit score._

_If you would like to continue paying the remaining balance and retain the property, please contact one of our Customer Care Reps at the following number._

He didn’t read the number, for the letter slipped from his fingertips and fluttered to the floor. His hand went to his lips. He had _known,_ yes, that this day was coming, but he hadn’t thought- he’d never expected—

He’d never realized he would be notified of his own wife’s death with such an afterthought.

Anger flaring up within him, he kicked at the letter. It skidded across the floor and stopped, the outline of the tread of his boots printed over one corner. The envelope went next in the opposite direction. It looked rather pitiful and useless, which matched his mood.

He sunk down on the steps and didn’t hear the door opening again. But he heard Clara’s voice. “Everything alright? You haven’t gone yet.”

The Doctor leapt up as if scalded, spinning on his toes as his face contorted in an effort to force the water welling up in his eyes back down. Clara was bending down towards the letter from Lunar Services.

“Don’t touch that!”

She jumped back as he tore it from her grasp, pressing it to his chest. “No need to get tetchy,” she snapped, though she seemed taken aback when their eyes met. “Chin Boy?”

Clara reached towards him, but he stepped back, turning to brace a hand on the control panel as he tucked the letter away.

“Sorry. Just some… private correspondence,” he muttered to the buttons and levers.

“Was it from Professor Song?”

His head bowed, bracing himself.

“I only saw the name, I didn’t read anything else,” Clara hurried to say.

A breath released. She hadn’t seen. He didn’t have to talk about this, this thing he had never talked about ever. “yes, it was from Professor Song,” he lied, and the lie came easy.

“Okay. Well… I guess I’ll leave you to answer it.” She said, and he could hear her drift one foot back towards the door.

“Thank you, Clara,” he said, and he looked once at her over his shoulder. “See ya Wednesday.”

“See ya,” she echoed, the barest of smiles gracing her lips, a mark that he’d at least done a little to reassure her. When the door closed a second time, he immediately pulled the lever to dematerialize. He couldn’t afford to stick around again by mistake.

Once safely alone, the Doctor took out the letter again, eyes scanning over the words. _If you would like to continue paying the remaining balance and retain the property…_ Retain the property?

It had been River’s house, not his. River would be in every room. Her things and the scent of her perfume and the sound of her laugh — just thinking of it was enough to fill his lungs and head so much that he could hardly breathe, could hardly _think._

 _If you wish to have the property taken as collateral to settle the debt, no further action need be taken. Please be advised that this may harm your credit score,_ the letter said, and that felt better. No action could be taken. There was nothing he could do, nothing he could change.

The Doctor marched back to his study and opened a drawer. He placed the letter inside as far back as it would fit, then shut it. He knew already that he would never open it again nor speak to anyone from Lunar Services, tax evasion and bad credit be damned.

He’d never wanted the score or the house. He just wanted _her._ Now he would have none.


End file.
